


The Bird Wife

by Palace_of_Ice



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: 19th Century Survivalism?, Deaf Character, F/M, Mentally Ill Character, OCD Germ Phobia, Social Isolation, Textile Art, Traditional Peasant Life, Unintentional Non-con, cross-cultural romance, freeze response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palace_of_Ice/pseuds/Palace_of_Ice
Summary: I wanted to write something that has the feel of a fairy tale, so I based this story on the Japanese folk tale 'The Crane Wife.'Nikola nursed an injured dove back to health and she became his best friend.  He's grief stricken when she disappears, but soon thereafter he finds a beautiful woman on his porch...Besides that, this is another 'what if' story.  What if Nikola lost his hearing and then his family during an outbreak of disease?  What if Helen was waylaid by highwaymen while traveling across the untamed Balkans, ran off and got lost in the woods and is rescued a mysterious deaf man living alone in the wilderness?I was also inspired by the historical Nikola Tesla's description of his mother's prowess at spinning, weaving and embroidering.  Imagining a young Nikola, cut off from traditional education due to deafness, sitting at his mother's knee and learning to weave was irresistible!
Relationships: Helen Magnus/Nikola Tesla
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Helen raced through the dense forest, the branches whipping across her arms and face. Spurred on by the crashing sounds behind her and the low voice of the highwayman pursuing her as he tripped and cursed, the panicked woman pushed herself beyond her limits. A jagged branch left a deep scratch that drew blood. It flowed down her bare arm, the sleeve already ripped and hanging in tatters. The knowledge that her pursuer wished to complete the terrifying assault that she had barely managed to escape kept her running, despite the burning in her lungs and the stitch forming in her side.

The terrain began to slope, but the woman couldn’t see any other passable way than down the side of the wooded hill. Too frightened to pause and think, she gamely attempted to descend as quickly as possible, but a patch of loose earth crumbled under her foot, throwing her off balance. She let out a short scream as she fell and tumbled down the hill, narrowly missing several slender tree trunks, until her luck ran out and she slammed into a thick stump. Lying there dazed and stunned, the woman despaired, sure that her attacker would be along shortly to grab her, drag her away and rape her.

Gradually, she caught her breath and calmed enough to realize that she was alone. Forcing herself to breath slowly and silently, she scanned the forest, tensely looking for the slightest sign of movement, listening intensely for crackling branches or rustling leaves. Silence. There wasn’t even a breeze moving through the trees or the sound of birdsong. After a long time, she scanned her body, looking for injuries. Finding nothing worse than scratches, bruises and a slightly sprained wrist, she slowly got to her feet and tried to figure out which way she should go. Going back the way she came seemed like a bad idea at best, in case the man was waiting for her uphill, but she was rapidly becoming aware that she had no idea where she was in a very large and unpopulated forest.

Carefully picking her way down the hillside, she came to a level area shaded by many old broad-leafed trees. The bright green of the foliage would have ordinarily inspired her admiration, but considering her growing fear that she was seriously lost, she was much more interested in the faint sound of flowing water. After a while, she found the bank of a small creek and looked both ways, then glanced up at the sun, trying to figure out which way she should go. Uncertain what direction she had come from, she decided that downstream was more promising if she was hoping to run into a road or village. “At least I have water…” she said to herself as she began following the gently flowing stream.

…

Helen was haunted by the memory of her father’s voice telling her that the military frontier was crisscrossed with myriad rivers, many more than the sparse population would ever need, as the country was still quite undeveloped with large swathes of barren wilderness. Though the creek she had been following for the last two weeks had joined with several others and was now a respectably sized river, she had seen no sign of human habitation. No cleared land, no fields, not so much as a hunting cabin. Compounding her problems, the river was now too large to cross and was quite winding, giving her the feeling that she getting nowhere fast. With each day, the young woman felt weaker. She was suffering from spells of dizziness as well as the gnawing ache in her empty stomach. Her ragged travel dress was starting to hang on her. As she tightened the laces of her corset to keep it from slipping, she mused to herself that if things continued this way, she would end up running out of room to tighten it further.

…

The woman stared longingly at a small fish in the river and felt sure that she must have chosen incorrectly when she decided to go downstream. Despite following the river for a long time, she still hadn’t seen any sign of people. She’d lost track of time and only knew that she was weakening. Each morning it grew harder to get to her feet and every step felt heavier and more sluggish than the last. Eventually she knew she would be reduced to crawling. She’d already began trying to eat the inner bark of some of the trees out of desperation, but it didn’t seem to be doing her much good. Maybe she’d bought herself an additional two days of life at best. Determined to struggle until the end, Helen resolved not to give up until she literally couldn’t move and continued slowly on her way.

…

Helen’s world had narrowed to the piece of ground directly before her feet and the faint glint of the waning sunlight on the rapidly flowing water to her left. Leaning heavily on her improvised walking stick, the now emaciated woman concentrated intently on simply setting one foot before the other until she gradually became conscious that she’d been hearing an odd sound for a while. It sounded a bit like a waterfall, but with a continuous low rhythmic thud. Worried that she would no longer be able to follow the river, she looked up, exerting considerable effort to lift her head and look for the source of the sound.

For a moment, her stunned eyes couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing, but with a rush of excitement her sluggish brain cleared. “A waterwheel...A mill?!” she exclaimed, panting with exertion as she struggled to walk up to the small wooden shack. “Hello! Hello?” she yelled, then tapped on the door of the building, but there was no reply. Impatiently she lifted the latch and opened the door, but there was no miller inside. “Where is he?” She went back outside and looked downstream. There was a path worn through the grass growing by the river. Looking higher, she saw a faint gray streak of smoke in the distance, rising up into the dusky sky. “A village!”

…

Nikola woke well before dawn as always. Unwilling to waste precious candles in order to pass the time, he pulled on his hemp shirt and trousers, walked across the pitch-black room, skillfully navigating around the furnishings from memory, then opened the shutters of the small windows. Moonlight streamed onto the small handmade table where he customarily ate his meals and did various light work. With a sigh he picked up a piece of kindling and a knife and occupied himself making a feather stick, shaving the wood to create a cluster of thin curls suitable for lighting the damp branches he’d gathered the previous day. While he still had plenty of half burnt logs smoldering away on the hearth, preparing for future needs was the only way he knew to pass the lonely hours until dawn.

After he’d made several more feather sticks, he put them in their basket, went over to the fireplace, fanned the embers and fed the flames. Satisfied by the cheerful glow, he picked up his battered copper kettle, weighing it in his hand. Figuring that a few cups of tea could still be made with the water remaining in it from the day before, he hung it over the fire and readied his clay cup, putting a wicker tea strainer on the rim, then filled it with a bit of dried chamomile flowers. He’d started using the herb several days ago in a probably futile attempt to soothe his anxiety and grief over his missing friend.

Pouring the piping hot water over the flowers, Nikola stared morosely into his cup, picturing the sweet white and gray dove that he’d lost. Nearly six months ago, he had found the animal lying on his porch one morning, wing broken and lucky to be alive at all. Feeling sorry for the poor creature, who had no doubt collided with something and fallen to the rough hewn wooden deck, he’d caught the frightened bird and tried to figure out how to help it. After puzzling over the problem for a bit, he’d set the delicate hollow bone, then carefully folded the wings closed and bound them to the bird’s body firmly. Once immobilized, he’d looked at the dove closely and determined that it was likely a female. Apologizing to the panicked creature, he’d confined her to a small basket until he made her a little cage, then kept her there as he nursed her back to health.

The young man sighed as he remembered the day he’d set her free. At first she didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, tentatively trying out her wing as though afraid that it might break again. After a short flutter, she’d approached him, then flew up and landed on his shoulder, apparently deciding that he was now her mate. From then on, they had been inseparable, at least until a little over a week ago, when she’d flown away, probably to find something tastier to eat than the wheat berries he’d been feeding her. But she hadn’t returned. In his heart, Nikola knew that she was likely gone forever, but the loss of the only company that he’d had for the last five years was hitting him hard.

He sipped his tea slowly, watching the dim light of dawn creep across the cabin floor. Finishing his warming drink, the young man set his cup on the table and put on his black wool vest as a defense against the nippy morning air. It was time to tend to his sheep, to feed his pigeons and gather their small eggs, to fetch water and do the myriad other chores that filled his lonely days. Pulling on his worn leather boots, he opened the door of his cabin then reeled back in horror at the sight of a human body sprawled across his porch.

After several minutes of blank terror, his staring eyes registered that the person lying just outside his door was dressed in the tattered and filthy remains of what had once been an elegant gray travel dress. Surprised to see not only a foreigner, but a woman at that, he cautiously approached, holding his breath for fear of breathing in the awful miasma of pestilence and death. Once he was within arm’s reach he stared intensely at her torso, looking for the rise and fall of breathing, then let out a relieved sigh once he saw it. He sniffed the air once and detected no scent of sickness, only sweat and the earthy scent of dirt.

Feeling reassured that she was unlikely to pose the threat of contagion, he looked her over more closely. Her blonde hair covered her face and was a veritable rat’s nest, littered with leaves and twigs. Her shoes and the hem of her long skirt were caked with mud and one sleeve was torn and hanging while the other had been ripped off and was wrapped around her bare upper arm. The makeshift bandage was slightly bloodstained.

Coming close to the prone woman he called to her softly, then when there was no reaction he gently nudged her shoulder a few times. He could easily feel the bones under the fabric and suddenly realized how skinny the woman was. _‘She must have gotten lost in the woods somehow and was starving.’_ he thought as he put his hand on her arm, feeling her temperature. She wasn’t feverish at least, though she was obviously chilled.

Curious about the wound, he pulled the bandage down only to find something that shocked him. Just beneath the scabbed over scratch was an extensive and long healed scar. Touching the rough white line, he could easily feel the contour of the bone underneath. It was uneven where it had evidently broken so severely that it had healed just a bit crooked and a ridge could still be felt. He felt a shiver start at the top of his head, fall back toward his collar and down his spine as he lifted the tangled blonde hair off the woman’s unconscious face. Feeling the thrill of recognition he whispered amazed, “Little dove... You’ve returned!”

…

Helen could hear the crackling of a fire. Enjoying feeling warm and comfortable for the first time in a long time, she rested for a while, until the scent of food cooking made her nose twitch and stomach grumble. Opening her heavy eyelids seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort, but she was so hungry she somehow found the motivation. Above her were the rafters of a wooden ceiling and on her left a wall of hewn logs, pierced by two small square windows. The windows had no glass, only shutters that were currently open, letting in a modicum of sunlight and fresh air.

Exerting herself, she lifted her head a bit to look across the room. Sitting before the far wall was a complex wooden machine, with four pedals that were connected to four suspended rectangular frames that were strung with innumerable thin white cords. After a moment of puzzlement, Helen spotted the more familiar spinning wheel next to it and realized that what she was looking at was a traditional handloom. A hole in the frame of the spinning wheel supported a distaff with an unfamiliar off-white fiber that she assumed was flax, as it certainly didn’t look like wool or cotton. With a bit more effort she turned her head to the right and saw a slender man tending a pot suspended over a primitive brick-lined hearth.

Feeling nervous about her rescuer being male, she cleared her throat as loudly as she could, hoping that if she was friendly and introduced herself politely she could ingratiate herself with the stranger. When she got no response, she called softly, “Excuse me, sir? Thank you for helping me…Ah, sir?” The man continued stirring the pot, seemingly oblivious, then ladled some of the steaming hot porridge into a wooden bowl. He took a small spoonful of butter from a stoneware crock and mixed it in. Turning around, his eyes widened when he saw that she was awake. He gave her a charming smile then approached the bed.

The sunlight from the small windows revealed her rescuer to be a very young man. His tall frame had a gangly adolescent quality, though he was obviously in his late teens or early twenties, judging by his beard. While his upper lip and chin had a respectable growth of dark hair, his cheeks had no more than a few wispy patches. Helen felt a bit more at ease and wondered if perhaps he was tending her until his mother came back from her chores. The finely embroidered blanket over her, along with the loom and spinning wheel seemed to indicate that this was the home of a woman skilled in textile arts.

As the young man sat next to her on a low stool, she tried introducing herself, though she hardly had the strength to even lift her hand and point to the center of her chest as she said in good German, “ _Ich hei_ _ße Helen_ _._ ” In response, the young man shook his head ruefully, pointed at his ear with his free hand and said, “Жао ми је. Ја сам глув.” 

Helen frowned lightly, completely unable to understand the local Slavic language. She knew that people living in the Austrian Empire took their schooling in German, but this young man appeared to be uneducated. She tried simplifying the message, pointing at herself and saying slowly, “Helen,” then pointed at the man and raised her brows questioningly. Getting the message, he pointed at himself and replied, “Nikola,” then offered her the bowl of porridge. 

Helen attempted to take the bowl, but found that she lacked the strength to hold its weight. After she almost spilled, the young man quickly took it back and offered her the spoon instead. Feeling more hungry than embarrassed, the Englishwoman put propriety aside and started shoveling the food into her mouth, causing the young man to pull away and take the spoon from her. Distressed by his actions, she whimpered until he patted her hand and began feeding her at a glacially slow pace. Though she was aware that eating too much, too quickly after being starved could be dangerous, she was so hungry she couldn’t help herself. 

Waiting for the young man- _‘Nikola,’_ she reminded herself-to help her finish the small portion of the buttery semolina porridge was agonizing, but after he got up to fetch something, she realized just how fatigued she felt from the effort of eating. Lying there exhausted, she thought about how close to dying she had come. _‘Thank god I made it here. I must have had only a few more days left-’_ Gentle hands lifting a mug of warm tea to her lips interrupted her thoughts. Obediently, she raised her head slightly and sipped the soothing chamomile then fell back limply on the soft pillow. 

After several minutes spent catching her breath, she became aware of a creepy tingling feeling. Raising her gaze, she found the young man staring at her intensely, a small half smile on his narrow face. Helen looked away nervously and wished that the amorous youth’s mother would hurry home. She shifted a bit in the small bed, staring at the complex red and black geometric patterns embroidered on the blanket, hoping that he would notice her lack of interest. When she glanced back at him she was disappointed to find unabashed gray eyes peering directly into her own. Nervously, she licked her lips, then silently cursed herself when it merely drew the young man’s attention.

 _“_ _Nikola, will your mother be back soon?”_ she tried again in German, attempting to sound casual, but failed to be convincing even to her own ears. The young man frowned, then sighed, pointed to his ear again and shook his head slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Helen swallowed then nodded as the sad realization that the young man was deaf dawned on her. _‘No wonder he didn’t turn around when I called. As if the language barrier weren’t enough…’_ she mused feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. Then she started getting the urge to urinate and felt truly miserable.

Helen looked up as a gentle hand touched her forearm. The young man was looking at her with an expression of concern. Apparently, he’d picked up on her distress. Feeling humiliated, the usually proper Englishwoman shifted around in bed, then reluctantly gestured toward the general vicinity of below her waist. Luckily, he quickly picked up on her meaning, got up and pulled over a box-like piece of furniture. He flipped open the hinged top to reveal a smooth wooden surface with a hole cut through it. Inside the box, sitting nicely just below the hole was a stoneware chamber pot. Helen sighed sarcastically under her breath, “Ah, the thunderbox. Wonderful.” When she attempted to pull back the covers to get out of bed, she found that she was too weak to shift the heavy wool blankets and linen sheet. Her caretaker quickly picked up the edge of the covers and pulled them back, giving her the shock of her life.

The cool morning air hit her bare skin, raising goosebumps. She whimpered and tried to cover herself as the light from the two small windows revealed that there wasn’t one stitch of clothing concealing her body. His gray eyes swept over her near skeletal frame, then to her horror, he began taking off his black wool vest. “No!” she cried out, trying frantically to scoot away from the disrobing man. He took off his linen shirt, revealing the flat wiry muscles of someone long accustomed to hard physical labor. The terrified woman tried to struggle as the young man took her by the arms, but felt as weak as a kitten. He seemed perturbed by her panic and softly shushed her, then began threading a reed-thin arm through the sleeve of his shirt. Helen stilled and lay there panting as he carefully guided her hands through the warm cloth, then put the neck hole over her head. After putting his vest back on, he took her by the wrists, pulled her upright and covered her torso with the well-worn linen shirt.

The faint scent of sweat clung to the shirt making her feel uncomfortable. She’d never worn a man’s clothing before, not even her ex-husband’s, and didn’t like the sensation of ownership it evoked. Despite her relief that she wasn’t about to be raped while she was completely helpless, she was still suspicious of the young man’s motives. Why was he taking it upon himself to care for her in such an intimate way? Surely he could have gone to fetch his mother or sisters instead.

Her thoughts were interrupted by strong slender arms lifting her bodily from the bed and setting her carefully over the hole of the close stool. Helen cringed as the young man held her upright and waited patiently for her to do her business. After a few painful minutes, she gave in and managed to let go, despite her extreme humiliation. Her caregiver hummed happily at her progress then gently pressed some soft moss into her hand. Aware that if she proved too weak to wipe herself he would soon be doing it for her, Helen exerted herself and managed to do a decent job, then dropped the damp moss in a small basket he provided. Before she knew it, she’d been lifted again and tucked securely back in bed. Worn out by all the activity, the exhausted Englishwoman drifted back to sleep.

...

Nikola wanted to sit and watch the dove-woman sleeping, but was aware that he was already running late. Giving her shoulder a proprietary little pat, he jumped to his feet, grabbed a water bucket and an egg basket, then practically ran out of the door, heading for his dovecote first. The small square building was pocked with holes, each containing a breeding pair of domesticated pigeons. He had chosen to bring the gentle birds with him when he left the village due to their extreme practicality as livestock. Every day they flew and foraged for themselves, relieving him of the burden of having to grow extra grain for feed. In exchange for the housing he’d built them, they provided him with excellent fertilizer, eggs, feathers and occasionally, meat, though he didn’t like to slaughter the sweet little creatures.

He quickly checked the many pigeonholes for new eggs, replacing half a dozen of them with wooden replicas so the birds wouldn’t be too distressed. On the way back to the cabin he fetched some fresh water from the well, then dropped it all off, went back out and led the sheep up to pasture. They looked skinny after being sheared and he hoped that the weather would warm quickly this year. Since summer had come late the last few years, he’d lost three sheep and couldn’t afford to lose any more. Their wool, milk and the butter and cheese he made from it, was too precious as it was.

After a few hours of whittling while keeping an eye on his flock, the sheep finally ate their fill and he led them back to their enclosure. Deciding that he’d better check on his dove-woman, he brushed off his boots, quickly ladled some water over his hands and dried them on the towel he left hanging by the door, then entered the cabin. The woman was dozing quietly in his bed, already looking better than when she woke. Some color had returned to her cheeks and her long blonde hair spilled like a banner across his pillow.

Nikola looked at her face closely, trying to see past the gaunt features and imagine what she would look like when she wasn’t half starved. Having lacked any human company for years, he found he couldn’t really do it. And besides, her features were foreign to him; a soft round face with small features and low cheekbones. No one in his village had such a cute snub nose. They were all cursed with variations on the long aquiline nose that he himself sported. He resisted the urge to trace the outline of her tiny ears, not wanting to wake her. His own large ones stuck out a bit, something he’d often been teased about in the village.

He wondered if now that she was human, she thought that he was good-looking. Self-consciously running his hand over his unkempt facial hair, he thought about the fact that he didn’t even have a straight razor. All he had were an extra pair of sheep shears. He supposed that he could separate the blades then take one, hollow grind, sharpen and strop it. Then all that remained was to start practicing shaving. Resolving to do so as soon as possible, he got up to make some vegetable soup.

…

Helen awoke to the soft whirring sound of spinning. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to see the young man at the wheel, skillfully turning the flax roving into fine thread. The ease and consistency of his work reminded her of a spider. Her own mother had liked to spin, but never made anything lighter than wool yarn suitable for knitting, something that she’d been keen to teach her young daughter. Unfortunately, Helen had never gotten the hang of spinning, always ending up with clumps and thin spots in her yarn, though she’d become proficient at knitting. Soon after teaching her how to make socks, her mother had died, and the spinning wheel had sat gathering dust in the corner for years, until her grieving father had finally sold it.

The Englishwoman watched pensively as her rescuer worked, then was struck by how far the squares of light shining from the windows had progressed across the floor. ‘ _It must be the afternoon by now.’_ she thought, surprised that she had still not met anyone else besides young Nikola. _‘Actually, it’s really_ _awfully quiet. Even in a small village there would be the sound of people talking, of children playing or people going about their work. Yet, here I can only hear the sounds of birds, the wind blowing and the river.’_ The possibility that the man lived alone crossed her mind but she dismissed it. _‘If nothing else, there’s a miller around here somewhere. Maybe I was wrong to assume that his mother is the weaver though. He certainly seems to know what he’s about.’_

The light gray eyes looked up from their work. Helen glanced away briefly as their intensity pierced her, then after a moment, looked back. He was staring again, though he had that friendly smile on his scruffy face. She froze as he got to his feet, then relaxed slightly as he walked over to the hearth to pick up the lid of a simmering pot. The Englishwoman’s stomach growled as she caught a whiff of a hearty vegetable soup. She bit her tongue as she salivated, hoping desperately that the soup was ready. Nikola seemed to be reading her mind as he brought her a bowl along with some freshly baked bread. He carefully blew on the spoonful of soup, then delicately touched his tongue to one of the chunks of some unidentifiable root vegetable, testing the temperature so as not to burn her.

Helen scrunched up her nose, feeling that it was already bad enough having to be spoon fed, much less letting him taste her food for her. The young man seemed amused by her disgust and brought the contaminated morsel to her mouth. The scent was too delicious and she quickly opened her mouth and swallowed, hardly chewing in her urgency. Nikola tsked, but continued feeding her, each time blowing softly on the soup before bringing it to her mouth. After she’d finished all the vegetables, he ripped off a bite-sized piece of bread, dipped it in the broth and popped it in her mouth. Helen savored chewing it, humming with delight at the exquisite flavor.

Once the bread was all gone, she felt so content she didn’t have the wherewithal to react when the young man smiled at her affectionately and swooped down to kiss her on the forehead. The Englishwoman was startled but unafraid as her rescuer gazed down at her lovingly, gently brushing her hair out of her face, then went back to the hearth to fetch his own meal.

…

That night, the young man approached the bed, staring at her intently. Helen returned his look with trepidation. Though he’d posed no threat to her so far, she still couldn’t trust a man not to abuse her. Not after what her ex-husband had done to her. John had always been respectful and kind, right up until the wedding night. Then he’d started to show his true colors. It was as though the moment she said ‘I do’ she had become a slave or a prostitute in his eyes, and he’d started to treat her accordingly. She shuddered with disgust and fear as involuntarily, the images of the many degrading and unnatural sex acts he had forced upon her, night after night, played before her mind’s eye.

Nikola lifted the blankets and she shrank back in terror. “Please...Don’t…” she whimpered, aware that it was futile, but unable to help herself. The young man stopped, then shushed her soothingly and proceeded to get carefully into the narrow bed. It was so small there was no way Helen could avoid brushing up against the virtual stranger’s body. She closed her eyes and froze, trying to block out what was happening, as wiry muscles and long limbs pressed against her. The heat of his body felt like it was burning her skin as the young man put one long arm around her and pressed her to his chest.

Shivering with fear, she waited for him to continue the invasion, to grab, to press, to tear her apart the way John always had. But instead, he simply sighed and went to sleep gently embracing her. Helen lay there in the dark, her racing heart beating a tattoo against her breast, until after a long time, she too gave in to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

After three days, it had become clear to her that Nikola lived alone. It was also obvious by the quick progress he’d made on weaving a bolt of linen that he was a truly skilled weaver. Helen had been startled when she’d seen the remnants of her gray travel dress, torn petticoats and chemise, disassembled and turned into a makeshift pattern. She’d thought that perhaps he’d thrown it out, but instead he seemed to be using it to find her size. The corset had puzzled him at first, but he’d quickly got the idea and removed the lacing, reserving it for some mysterious purpose.

Having little else to do but watch the young man work, Helen was intensely curious what he was making. It seemed like today she might finally find out, as he folded the cloth in half, efficiently drew a pattern with a bit of charcoal from the fire, then took out a pair of shears and cut the pieces out, creating as little waste as possible. The Englishwoman had never done any dressmaking herself, but recognized the simple bodice, long sleeves and skirt. Nikola threaded a needle faster than she’d ever seen anyone do it before, then rapidly sewed the pieces together, turned the finished dress right-side out and presented it to her with a happy flourish.

Helen couldn’t help but smile back in delight as her rescuer helped her to her feet, gently took his own linen shirt off of her and dressed her in the new linen shift. The fabric was still a bit stiff, but she was so overjoyed to finally have a garment that covered her down to her shins that she didn’t care. She wished that she could thank the young man, but was unable to communicate it verbally and unwilling to do so physically for fear of encouraging his obvious infatuation, so she merely smiled brightly at him while fingering the finely made shift.

…

Nikola stared nervously at the dim reflection of his narrow face in the bowl of water as he dragged his improvised razor over the whiskers growing along his jawline. The stripe of soap it removed was thankfully untainted by any blood as his nimble hands learned the art of shaving. He looked critically at himself, then deciding to keep only the mustache, made quick work of the hair on his chin. Then he finger combed his hair back away from his face and wished he had a _šajkača_ to conceal his cowlick. Resolving to make one right away, he lifted his head proudly and told himself not to reveal his insecurity to his little dove. After all, no man ever won a woman by showing weakness, and Nikola Tesla was anything but weak.

…

Nikola laced the ribbon through the eyelets he’d sewn on the sides of Helen’s new wool bodice. He’d had to approximate her size from the remnants of her old clothes, but using the idea of adjustable lacing that he’d seen on the strange undergarment she’d been wearing around her torso, he figured that it should fit well. Besides that, the non-traditional feature should prove most helpful as she regained her health and filled out. She’d already gained a fair amount of weight over the last week, as he’d begun feeding her rich custards and melted cheese on bread. It was depleting his food supply, but he felt it was worth it. Helen was now able to get out of bed and relieve herself on her own, and was making short trips across the cabin to stretch her legs.

He could tell that she was restless and wanted to go outside, but of course, she needed at least a proper bodice to support her bosom, if nothing else. Luckily, it was now summer and she didn’t yet need a wool skirt or cloak, so he still had time to make them. To try and occupy her, he’d made her a little hand spindle, but her attempts to spin a bit of yarn had been laughable. After a while, she’d put it aside and mimed holding a pair of needles and made a familiar motion. He’d quickly given her his knitting needles and a ball of yarn and she was now occupied making herself a pair of socks. Nikola felt rather bad for her, unable to communicate as she was, but figured it couldn’t be that hard on her. After all, not that long ago, she’d been a dove and had had an even harder time. At least now they had the common understanding of human beings.

…

Helen allowed the young man to put the sturdy wool bodice on her then tighten the laces snugly. It was a very comfortable way of supporting her chest, certainly much easier to move in than her corset, despite that having been a practical travel model. She was glad that though Nikola was obviously preening for her, maintaining a dashing little mustache and wearing his new hat with his best attempt at manly aplomb, he hadn’t made any move to try and touch her body or kiss her anywhere except the forehead.

She was looking forward to getting out and meeting the other villagers. Hopefully, once she could speak to others, they would be able to dissuade her young suitor from his romantic ambitions. Of course, she imagined there might be some who would make an issue of her tainted virtue due to being confined alone with an unmarried man, but there was certainly no help for it. Hopefully, as a foreigner, she wouldn’t face the sort of pressure and judgment that a local girl would under the same circumstances.

Eager to go outside, the Englishwoman willingly put her arm around the slender young man’s waist and pointed toward the door. Nikola just smiled at her charmingly and helped her out of the small cabin. At first, all she could do was blink rapidly and let her eyes adjust to the bright light, then she looked around only to find that there were no other houses in sight. In fact, she noted with trepidation, as she looked up and around, there wasn’t any smoke curling above the treetops either. Disconcerted by the lack of any sign of human habitation other than their own, she looked directly at her helper, pointed to a stick and waited as he went to fetch it for her.

Taking the stick in hand, she quickly sketched a couple stick figures in the dirt, pointed to each in turn, then pointing to herself and Nikola. The young man cocked his head and shrugged, then nodded, evidently getting the idea that the stick figures represented themselves. She then drew a few more stick figures a little ways off, then drew an arrow from their own representations to the other people. Nikola frowned lightly and shook his head, then walked over and scuffed out the figures of other people. Holding his hand out for the stick, he took it then quickly drew a bird and a sheep. Helen’s shoulders slumped as she got the message. There were no other villagers nearby. They were alone.

…

Nikola was worried about his little dove. Though she was able to get around on her own now and he’d tried to give her some chores to usefully fill her time, she seemed sad and let down somehow. _‘Maybe life as a human isn’t what she thought it would be?’_ he mused as he looked toward the vegetable garden, only to find the still slender woman toying with a weed she’d pulled as she stared into space. _‘I guess a life of endless toil can’t compare to flying freely, searching for food and exploring_ _everyday_ _._ _And it seems like she thought there would be more people,_ _to replace her_ _flock I guess. Poor thing. Leaving her alone while I tend the sheep must really be bad for her._ _But she’s still too weak to hike all the way_ _up_ _to the pasture_ _._ _There must be something I can do to help her feel less lonely.’_

Nikola thought about the time in his life before he came here. He’d lived with his mother and father, an older brother and three sisters, all in one tiny two room house. Then the sickness had come and they’d all died, leaving him orphaned. How often he’d wished to have a wife and children, to replace the family he’d lost, but his terror of contagious disease had made that impossible. Instead he’d fled here to live alone, except for his animals. He’d felt safe, if terribly lonely, at least until his dove entered his life. And now, she’d transformed into his fondest wish, a woman to be his wife and give him back a family. He thought about how if he gave Helen children she couldn’t be lonely any more. Then she would have her human flock.

Deciding that this must be the solution, he mused, ‘S _he’s_ _probably_ _just_ _disappointed that I haven’t been courting her more aggressively.’_ The young man considered the possibility seriously. He knew that his little dove was in love with him before she flew off and somehow managed to transform herself. She’d obviously risked everything for him, and here he was ignoring her in favor of his work. Surely, if he gave her children she would cheer up, wouldn’t she? He eyed her skinny body critically, then thought, _‘Once she’s health_ _y enough_ _to mate_ _, I’ll give her what she needs.’_

…

‘ _I know there’s a village in the vicinity somewhere. Father was told that it wasn’t large enough to have an inn, but weren’t we going to stay with the coachman’s cousin’s wife’s family or something like that? So stupid, I didn’t pay attention to how far it was or even remember what its name is, not that the information would do me much good right now. Surely, Nikola will go to town at some point. The weather is good for traveling and there must be something he needs.’_

The man in question interrupted her ruminations by tapping her on the shoulder and beckoning to her eagerly. Bemused by the sudden urgency after several mornings of being left mostly to her own devices while she put on weight and recovered her health, Helen followed the young man down a well worn path. It led through the woods and into a clear valley, planted with wheat and of all things, hemp. The Englishwoman was surprised to see the crop, associating it with the production of ropes and nets for the fishing industry. She wondered what on earth the young man could be using it for.

Nikola led her over to a small shed, unlatched the door and dragged out some mysterious equipment. A sledge with foot pedals attached to various belts and a flywheel, a large bin with rollers inside with an attached hopper. He positioned and assembled the odd machinery, then went back to the shed for more familiar tools, a scythe and sickle. Handing her the long handled blade, he gestured toward the ripe winter wheat field, trotted over and began the labor intensive process of reaping. Finally realizing the purpose of this trip, Helen slumped slightly in disappointment, then awkwardly attempted to use the scythe.

She was still struggling on her first row when she heard the soft sound of muffled laughter. Raising her eyes from her work to glare at the young man, who’d already completed two rows and had taken a breather to check on her progress, Helen kept doggedly at it until Nikola took the scythe from her. Raising a brow to get her attention, he slowly demonstrated the appropriate motion, then handed the tool back to her. Helen gasped in surprise as he unexpectedly took her by the arms and guided her through reaping, but relaxed as he let go of her and nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

Some time later, Nikola called a halt to their reaping and began gathering the sheaves and piling them next to his odd contraption. He darted back into the shed and brought out some rough hemp sacks, then put some of the sheaves in the bin, sat on his invention and started pedaling. Helen watched with interest as the rollers threshed and winnowed the wheat, depositing the grain neatly into the hopper and ejecting the wheat straw to one side.

Trying to make herself useful she began gathering the straw into a large pile a small distance from the machine, earning herself an appreciative smile. Before she knew it, the hopper was full and Nikola was filling his first hemp sack. Several sacks later and the day’s harvest was complete, along with a large haystack for the sheep. The young man put his equipment away then reemerged with a wooden back frame. He carefully loaded it with the heavy sacks of grain, slipped the straps around his narrow shoulders then secured the pack firmly around his waist with a thick woven sash.

Helen watched amazed as the young man slowly got to his feet. The grain must weigh more than the person carrying it, and the trip back to the cabin was easily half a mile. _‘No wonder he’s so strong. Living like this isn’t for the lazy or feeble.’_ Helen felt bad walking next to him empty handed but was still too weak to carry something heavy for any distance. She thought back to her life in England, auditing classes at Oxford University, riding in a hackney carriage to the theatre, having new dresses made of factory made cloth. With a sigh, she resolved to find a way to communicate her desire to go to the village as soon as possible.

…

Nikola took off his vest and picked up the axe. He glanced at Helen out of the corners of his eyes, making sure that she was watching him, then started splitting logs. She’d seemed impressed with his fields, clearly fascinated by his demonstration of the pedal powered combine he’d invented. However, he’d felt more than a little offended by her evident surprise at his physical strength and wanted to further prove that he was more than capable on that front. Judging by the bright blue eyes watching him now, it seemed to be working.

Once he’d cut a respectable quarter cord of firewood, he stacked it next to the cabin, puffed out his chest a bit and made his way over to the woman sitting on the porch. Nikola gave her his most dashing smile and reached into his shirt. Then he pulled out a handkerchief from where it lay nestled in his armpit, presented it to her with a little flourish and casually proceeded on his way.

…

Helen stared in consternation at the smelly square of cloth the young man had deposited into her hand. _‘What the hell!? Is this some kind of prank?’_ she thought bemused as the smell of body odor wafted toward her sensitive nose. The big cocky smile certainly pointed toward that conclusion.

Shaking her head at the young man’s antics, she sniffed lightly, surprised by how pleasant she found the strong musky scent. It smelled nothing at all like her only other experience of a man’s natural odor. John’s sweat had always smelled sour to her. _‘Maybe it was all the beef he ate. Nikola hardly eats meat._ _S_ _urely that must affect how a person smells.’_ Feeling curious about her unexpected enjoyment, the Englishwoman glanced around furtively, brought the hankie closer to her nose and sniffed it again.

…

Nikola wondered what his little dove was doing as she filled a small wooden bowl with water and floated a leaf on the surface. She led him down the side of the small hill the cabin was built on, then out into the clearing at its foot. Feeling a bit tired from the days work, he sat down against the stones that formed the walls of the basement that was set into the side of the hill.

As he watched Helen rubbing one of his metal sewing needles with a bit of wool, he wondered idly if he had enough cheese stored to last until the sheep’s milking season in the winter. Strangely, she was stroking the bit of metal in only one direction, not a very effective way of cleaning it, he thought, then she did something truly queer. She dropped the polished needle on the floating leaf and beckoned him closer.

Curious about what on earth she could be up to, Nikola got heavily to his feet, then peered at the odd combination. When she turned the bowl, his jaw dropped as the needle continued pointing unerringly in the same direction. Unable to restrain himself, he blurted out, “Шта? Магија!?”

Helen looked up at him with a mysterious little smile, then with her free hand, smoothed a patch of dirt, then drew with her finger  a circle,  and an equilateral cross over it, aligning one of the legs of the cross with the needle floating in her bowl. Nikola recognized the symbol  from maps and realized with a chill that his little bird-woman had created a  magnetic compass.

_'I knew it! She knows magic! That’s how she turned herself into a woman. But, what does she need with a compass?’_ The young man furrowed his brow in consternation as the supernatural creature next to him pulled a thin piece of wood and a bit of charcoal out of her bodice .  She rapidly drew something on it, then showed it to him. Nikola recognized the child-like boxes and chevrons a s a representation of buildings. One of them had a little cross at the top, obviously a church. 

He sighed as the woman pointed at the picture, then at her magical compass, then gestured expansively around them with an urgent questioning look. _‘You’re still missing a flock, is that it?’_ he thought sadly, ‘ _The village is the last place you should go, little dove. Something terrible will happen to you there now that you’re human, and as wise as you are, you don’t know to be afraid.’_ He shook his head gently, hoping that she would let the matter drop, but it only seemed to upset her more. 

Taking  the improvised slate from her, he rubbed out the drawing and replaced it with one of his own. A skull. The look of  fear on his bird-woman’s face troubled him, but he knew it was necessary. If she went to the village she would catch a disease and die. Of that much, he was certain. 

...

Helen watched morosely as the young man scooped the newly milled flour into a tightly woven hemp sack. After several weeks living here, it had become clear that Nikola had no intention of going to a village or town for supplies. As difficult as it had been to imagine, the hard working and inventive young man was completely self sufficient. On top of his other skills, he was also an exceptional artist. The skull that he had drawn in response to her request to go to the village had been strikingly accurate. Still chilled by the implied threat, the Englishwoman increasingly felt like a captive, despite the assiduous care the young man showed towards her.

He seemed to expect little of her, gently encouraging her to work to pass the time, rather than pushing her to carry her own weight. For example, he didn’t really need her labor here at the mill, but only wished to have her company. Helen sighed as she followed him, taking the trail that originally had given her such joy. Her time spent lost and starving in the forest seemed like such a long time ago now. She’d grown accustomed to the plain peasant food, the homespun clothes, the narrow bed stuffed with hay. Even being pressed up against a man every night, snuggled together for warmth, somehow she’d even gotten used to that. Though it helped that every morning she found herself alone, Nikola having risen well before dawn to tend to his sheep. She didn’t relish the awkward ordeal of dealing with a man’s morning arousal and was glad that he had spared the both of them that.

As they hiked back to the cabin, Helen began to feel a characteristic dampness between her legs and cursed. She hadn’t had any flow for about three months, a natural consequence of near starvation. Apparently, she’d finally regained enough body fat that her cycle was reimposing itself, but what an incredibly inconvenient time for it. She didn’t even have a handkerchief to put between her legs, not that she had anything to keep it there either. The flow began to trickle down the inside of her thigh and she came to an abrupt halt, humiliated by her predicament.

Nikola turned, the heavy flour sack slung over his shoulder and looked at her with concern. Her face flaming, Helen looked away, then as she felt the blood slide down the inside of her knee, bit the bullet and lifted her skirt a bit to show her companion her unclean state. The young man seemed completely unperturbed, merely putting down his sack to take out his handkerchief. Helen froze in shock as he boldly lifted her skirt and wiped the inside of her leg. As his hand neared the apex of her thighs, she blocked him from going further, then took the cloth from him and held it to her sex. Feeling utterly disgusting, she hobbled back to the cabin, hoping that the flow was light enough that it wouldn’t soak through and get all over her hand.

…

Nikola smiled at his little dove as he handed her some wool batting he’d quickly sewn into little pads, along with a couple thin straps he’d made from scraps of her old clothes to hold them up. He was aware of the sort of devices women needed during their monthly flow, given the close quarters of his childhood home. Well, that and having four female relatives. Every month just before they got their time, there were at least three days of nothing getting done and the menfolk tiptoeing around trying to avoid provoking fits of crying or rage. _‘I guess that’s why she’s_ _been moody_ _l_ _ately_ _._ _She was just_ _preparing_ _for her flow, which means she’s healthy enough to be fertile. But when_ _is she ready to breed_ _? Women don’t go into heat like sheep._ _Maybe it happens right after bleeding like with dogs?’_

Nikola watched the blushing woman surreptitiously as he sewed her another hemp shift. The work was so simple for him that he thought he could probably do it in the dark. After completing the dress, he decided that he should add some embroidery to this one. Maybe some little birds in black around the collar and some green chevrons down the sleeves. That meant gathering some stinging nettles. He made a mental note to do so, then set aside the finished shift and went to his wheel to make some embroidery floss.

…

Helen smiled as she put on the new shift Nikola had made her. The embroidery was so elaborate it had taken the last five days and she thought that perhaps he had made it for her to try and cheer her up after the unpleasant experience of having essentially no privacy during her cycle. Once he’d shown her the finely made garment, she’d bathed in the river and combed her long blonde hair, eager to get clean and fresh before changing. Nikola had kept an unusually watchful eye on her the whole time, under the pretense of doing some fishing. Given the presence of a fish trap, she could tell that it was a ruse but did her best to be tolerant of his voyeurism, nervous about what he might do if she tried to chase him away.

The young man fidgeted with the fish he’d caught as he looked at her with admiration in his gray eyes. Helen quickly laced up her bodice, trying to conceal and restrain her full bosom but Nikola just continued to stare at her chest, then met her anxious gaze with a lazy smile that spoke volumes. She shivered, glanced at the front of the young man’s pants, then headed back to the cabin. Feeling like his eyes were burning her from behind, she hurried indoors, hoping that if she were busy cooking she might escape his obvious interest.

 _'How am I going to get out of this? Eventually he’s going to try something, and then what? When I refuse him, what if he hurts me?’_ She recalled the strength of his grip when one day on the way up the hill to the pasture she’d tripped and almost fallen. He’d been alarmed by her close call and had grabbed her with considerable force. Finger shaped bruises had appeared on her upper arm by nightfall.

Helen chopped a carrot a little more roughly than necessary as she recalled how during one of the innumerable times the young man had changed right in front of her, she’d glimpsed his penis. Given her limited experience, it seemed formidable enough despite being flaccid at the time. _‘Well, that wasn’t the case just now._ _He’s_ _big enough to be obvious and he wasn’t trying to hide it either.’_ The Englishwoman mulled over the likelihood of dying if she left on her own to search for the village, then nervously brought her legs closer together as the light tread of her companion approached her from behind.

…

Nikola ran his eyes over his bird-woman’s full bottom as she bent over the table, chopping vegetables. Sunlight from the window shone through the off-white shift, revealing the contours of her legs. He grimaced as his erection pressed against his clothes, then reached down the front of his pants and pulled it upright against his belly. Letting out a relieved sigh, he tried to ignore his arousal in favor of preparing their meal. Putting the cleaned fish in a shallow stoneware dish, he smiled at the beautiful blonde woman as she put the vegetables around it. She returned the friendly gesture with a nervous smile of her own, then turned away to wipe her hands on a small towel. Nikola poured some water into the dish, covered it and put it on the hot coals to steam.

Hoping that she would be pleased with his offering, he quickly stepped outside to attend the call of nature, trotting down the hillside about a hundred paces, to arrive at the small outhouse. It was positioned as far from their drinking water as feasible, making it a real pain to use during the winter. Frankly it was no joy to use during summer either due to the smell. Nikola held his breath as he went as quickly as possible, then tossed a generous layer of ash over the waste and decided it was time to take a bath and wash his clothes. After all, Helen was fertile now and he wanted to be acceptably clean for her.

…

Helen looked up toward the door, only to find a stark naked, dripping wet man. The unselfconscious way he walked over to the small wicker chest where he kept a change of clothes made her feel like she was merely another variety of livestock to him. _‘There’s no need to be considerate of the delicate sensibilities of a sheep.’_ she thought resentfully as she turned away, trying to keep up the pretense of privacy. She made two cups of hot chamomile tea and set them on the table, then cut two slices of bread while Nikola checked on the fish. Evidently it was done, as he wrapped the kitchen towel around his hands, picked up the hot dish carefully and placed it on the table.

Helen sniffed the delicious smell and smiled as they sat side by side on the small bench and began eating. The young man always let her have the best and largest morsels of every meal and she felt a little bad. He was nothing but lean muscle, not an ounce of fat on him, whereas she had not only completely recovered from her near starvation, but was actually starting to become a bit chubby. She glanced at his damp dark hair, then worried that he might catch cold if he didn’t eat right, began putting the larger pieces of vegetables in front of him.

…

 _'She’s feeding me! Oh, little dove, are you ready?’_ Nikola was overjoyed at the new behavior, reminded of how his pigeons courted by feeding and preening each other. Giving her an eager smile, he quickly ate the remaining food, cleaned up, then broke his usual routine of spinning by the dying light, to instead take his woman by the arm and try to lead her to the bed. Surprisingly, she resisted him, getting a frightened look on her face and protesting, her lips moving silently as she spoke in her strange unknown language. Feeling confused, Nikola let her go but didn’t want to end the interaction now that he was finally making some progress.

Puzzling over what to do, he seized on an idea and went to get her comb and a bit of yarn. Gesturing for her to sit on the bench, he gently pressed her, until she reluctantly relented and let him comb and braid her hair. Feeling bold now that she had allowed him the human equivalent of preening, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and decided to leave her alone for a while. She obviously needed more courting. _‘Maybe she’s not receptive yet. I’ll keep asking and eventually she’ll give me the sign.’_ he thought as he prepared for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A šajkača is the national hat of Serbia. ;-)  
> Apparently, in parts of the Balkans and Greece, giving a hankie you've been keeping in your armpit all day is a traditional way of hitting on a girl at festivals. Some men swear by it, so I guess it works?!  
> And "Шта? Магија!?" obviously means "What? Magic?!"


	3. Chapter 3

Helen put another piece of bread into the hemp sack she’d taken, listening carefully for the sound of footsteps. The bag was already half full with assorted scraps of food that she’d been secreting away in preparation for leaving. Over the last week, the young man had become increasingly amorous, attempting every day to lead her to bed well before sunset. When that invariably failed, he would pretend to fuss with her hair or clothes, then go in for a kiss. She kept turning away so that they fell on her cheeks or temple, but she knew that soon he would grow impatient and simply take what he wanted. While he had never been violent, she still lived in fear of what he might do if she genuinely offended or angered him. Hence, the sneaking about and hiding food here in the basement. She’d stowed her little bag of scraps high on a shelf, hiding it behind several small empty crocks. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find a use for them until she was already long gone.

As she stood on tiptoe to put the sack back in its hiding place, she thought about the fact the summer was halfway over. Soon it would be autumn and the thin hemp shift and wool bodice she wore would prove inadequate. Nikola was already weaving a bolt of wool cloth in preparation, probably to make her a proper skirt. The fact that she was waiting for him to finish it before running away made her feel guilty, but she tried to push the feeling away. After all, it was either this or submit to his lust. As she snuck out of the basement and made her way to the vegetable garden, she was troubled by anxiety over the prospect of getting lost in the wilderness again. She knew that she couldn’t carry more than a month’s worth of food. If finding the village took any longer than that, she’d end up in the same situation she’d been in before, except next time she doubted that she’d be rescued by a mysterious yet kind forest hermit.

 _‘Would it really be so bad, letting him…’_ Disgusted by her train of thought, Helen yanked up a handful of weeds. What was she, a prostitute willing to let a man use her body, just so she could guarantee her survival? The idea was abhorrent, despite the fact that Nikola was obviously eminently competent, intelligent, handsome…She shook her head and tried to focus on her plan to leave. _‘Father and the coach driver were getting the best of those bandits before I ran off. I’m sure that they continued on to the village and have probably been searching for me all this time.’_ Ignoring the very real possibility that they had not prevailed against the well armed and vicious criminals, Helen continued gardening.

…

By the early morning light, Nikola finished weaving a decorative edge on the dark wool skirt, then quickly took it off the loom and started hemming it. Helen seemed to be very interested in watching him make the piece for her and he was looking forward to fitting it for her. The chance to wrap his arms around her lovely waist was dearly to be desired. It seemed to him that she was becoming more receptive to his advances by the day, allowing him to touch her hair and put his hand on her shoulder. She still turned away shyly when he tried to kiss her, but the feeling of her soft cheek against his lips was heavenly. Sleeping next to her at night was becoming difficult, as the scent of her was arousing. Furtively, he would smell her hair, feeling that each night she smelled more delicious than the last. _‘It’s been well over a week since she bled. I think she’ll be ready soon…’_ he mused as he beckoned to his little dove and gestured for her to let him wrap the skirt around her waist.

...

Helen happily accompanied the young man to his fields, enjoying wearing the new wool skirt he’d made her. It was still too warm to wear it comfortably and she was getting somewhat sweaty, but she’d been so happy to get the necessary garment that she’d insisted on wearing it. She watched idly as Nikola brought out his pedals and attached them to another bin with rollers in it, then began processing the large heaps of hemp stalks that he’d left to dry in the sun for the last few weeks. Helen was amazed to see pale fibers accumulating at the foot of the machine. It was clear that this was the source of the flaxen batting that he’d used to make her shifts, his shirts and trousers.

Feeling a bit guilty for how she planned to abandon her rescuer the next morning while he tended his sheep, she decided to try and help gather up the fiber. Not sure what to put it in she went over to the shed to look for a container. Soon a stack of baskets suggested themselves. She took one and began heaping the processed hemp into it.

Nikola tsked and stopped pedaling, jumping off his seat to stop her. The fibers were getting tangled, making his work harder. He brought out a board studded with several nails in the center and showed her how to run the hemp through the sharp metal spikes to refine and straighten the fiber into batting, then once he had a large enough amount, he tied it loosely to a stick with a bit of cord.

Helen took the distaff in her hand, then knelt next to the pile of remaining fiber and sighed. It seemed that she didn’t know what she was doing well enough to really be helpful. Sitting back casually on her heels, she looked up at the gray eyes regarding her with warm affection and smiled sheepishly.

The young man returned her smile, but soon the mood turned serious. He took the distaff from her and set it aside, looking down on her with dark eyes. Helen knew what it meant when a man’s eyes dilated that way but feeling caught off guard, hesitated. Jumping to her feet and retreating seemed too extreme a reaction to him merely looking at her, so she stayed seated and simply waited to see what he would do. After a beat of expectant silence, his eyes flashed with excitement, then he darted over, fell to his knees behind her and lifted her skirts.

The feeling of his hand on the bare skin of her buttocks surprised her. She shied away, leaning forward onto her hands, but soon realized that all she’d accomplished was to give him easier access. A strong hand landed on her back, lightly pressing her down underneath him. At the feeling, Helen froze, her mind going blank with shock. In a daze, she heard the rustle of cloth as he undid the fly of his trousers. All she could think over and over again was, _‘This is really happening._ ’ She couldn’t even wince or cry out as the young man penetrated her then rutted away inside of her, grunting softly as he enjoyed her body. The sensation of him hovering over her back made her feel like an animal being bred.

After a few minutes, he finished with a high pitched yelp and her mind came out of its paralyzed state. With a crashing sensation, she realized that she’d essentially just sat there and let him rape her. ‘ _He didn’t need to use any force at all. How could I? What kind of woman doesn’t even...All I had to do was get up and walk away. Did part of me want this?’_

The Englishwoman whimpered as he slowly pulled out of her. She covered her face and cried silently as she felt two calloused hands spreading her buttocks as the young man took a good look at his handiwork. The sensation of being leered at as the viscous fluid dripped out of her was nearly as degrading as the horrible things John had done to her.

Afraid that Nikola would be angry with her if he saw her tears, she quickly wiped them away and tried to compose herself as he pulled down her skirt and got to his feet. A hand appeared before her face. Refusing to meet her rapist’s eyes, she took it and let him help her to her feet. Trying to pretend that nothing had happened, Helen helped the young man gather up the hemp fiber and followed him quietly back to the cabin.

…

Nikola replayed the moment his sweet dove had knelt before him, showing him her desire with the submissive, still posture. Taking the role of cock to her hen, he’d finally bred her, careful to be gentle with the delicate flesh of her sex. The sight of his essence dripping from the little slit had given him such satisfaction. No doubt, she would soon have his children growing in her and would be happy.

After the act, she’d seemed shy and subdued. There had been no blood, so it was unlikely that she was in pain from him breaking her maidenhead, but perhaps despite his care it had hurt a bit after all? He thought about how he’d have to build a crib for the baby, then as their family grew, he’d eventually need to expand the cabin and add another room for the children. Happily picturing a large family of two sons and three daughters, he smiled as he began herding the sheep back down the hill.

After he secured his flock in their enclosure, he looked for his woman in her usual place in the garden, but she wasn’t there. With a mental shrug he went to their cabin, figuring she was engaged in knitting or whatnot, only to find that she wasn’t there either. Starting to get concerned, he trotted down the hill to check the outhouse. Empty. Now feeling alarmed, he checked the basement, though he couldn’t imagine what she could be doing in there. Nothing. Wringing his hands and whining with fear, he ran back up to the top of the hill, then turned around in place, looking for some sign of which way his only companion had gone. The thought that he had offended her, causing her to decide to turn back into a dove and fly away, flashed through his mind.

_“Ne, ne, ne!”_ he cried in denial, taking his head in his hands, then he tried desperately to calm himself and think. _‘She wanted to be my mate. It was so clear, the way she crouched down and held still for me. But now that I’ve given her what she wanted...No, that doesn’t make any sense. Haven’t I shown her that I can take care of her and any babies she has? Haven’t I given her everything she needs?’_

Nikola thought about the new skirt she’d been wearing. Had she really taken everything he’d made her, eaten his food, mated with him, then simply flown away? Beside himself with pain, he wandered along the treeline, feeling wounded and hopeless, determined to search for any sign of her.

After an indeterminate amount of time, his gray eyes spotted a white thread snagged on a bush growing next to the river. He looked at the grass growing on the bank carefully and found signs of footprints in the damp earth. Filled with renewed hope, he avidly pursued the trail, hoping to track down his wayward mate. 

…

Helen sat next to the river and nibbled on a carrot. The cold indifference of nature was already giving her second thoughts about her plan. Trying to keep up her courage, she reasoned, _‘If I really get in trouble, couldn’t I just go back? Nikola might be angry with me, but I don’t think he would punish me for trying to run away. And even if he did, what could he do to me that’s worse than starving to death?’_ Depressed by her dark thoughts, the Englishwoman hung her head, feeling low. Had it really come to this? Forced to give her body to a man in exchange for bare survival? It was everything she’d hated about her marriage distilled into its purest form. 

Helen swallowed slowly and couldn’t help but think about even darker possibilities. She might get injured and die alone painfully in the wilderness, without another human being ever even knowing. She might make it to the village only to find that her father had been murdered by those bandits, leaving her all alone in the world, stuck in a foreign land and given the fact that she’d just been raped, possibly pregnant. The Englishwoman wiped away her tears and tried to bear up under the negative thoughts, pushing them away in favor of continuing with her efforts to reach her father and civilization. Getting to her feet, she had just started walking again, when she heard a crashing sound. Alarmed by the commotion she whirled, only to find Nikola running towards her.

The young man halted abruptly when he saw her, then eyed the sack of food in her hands, looking utterly betrayed. The quantity of supplies made it obvious that her escape had been premeditated. His breathy voice asked softly, “Helen, зашто?” The Englishwoman hung her head, unable to meet his eyes as he approached her cautiously. She dropped the sack as he fell to the ground before her, clasped her knees and wept like a child. 

…

The couple entered the cabin silently, a pall of sadness and confusion hanging over their reunion. Nikola slowly undressed, then lay down on the narrow bed, facing toward the wall, deliberately ignoring his unfaithful companion. Helen looked regretfully at his back, then disrobed and lay down back to back with him. Eventually she fell asleep to the rhythmic rise and fall of his slow breathing. 

Nikola lay there staring at the wall, trying to figure out why his little dove didn’t love him anymore. After a long time, he finally figured out what it might be, then he too fell asleep.

…

The young man poured the molten metal into the small mold then readied his tools for the next stage. After waiting for the metal to harden, he broke open the mold, trimmed off any extraneous metal and started filing. Early that morning he’d crawled out of bed, being careful not to wake the sleeping woman, then measured her finger with a bit of twine and went directly to his forge. The small ring was made of the only metal he had, iron. He felt some regret that he didn’t have anything finer, but this would have to do. It was the meaning that mattered, not the material. 

Giving the ring a final polish, Nikola slipped it in his pocket then sighed, feeling regret for his past actions. Obviously, his dove had expected to be treated like a human woman after she’d transformed into one, and here he’d treated her like she was still an animal. No doubt, the disrespect he’d shown her was what had prompted her to leave. He flushed with shame when he thought about all the kisses he’d stolen, how casually he’d been naked before her eyes, and then the sex...He felt like a cad. But surely marriage would fix all that, wouldn’t it? He just hoped that her return meant she was willing to give him another chance.

…

Helen pulled her hand away as the young man tried to slip a gray metal ring on her finger. The look of distress on his face made her hesitate, then hold out her palm to see the small gift. Nikola licked his lips nervously, then placed the precious bit of metal in her hand, obviously hoping that she would find it adequate. 

The Englishwoman stared at the ring, thinking that it felt much heavier than it appeared. _‘Marriage, or at least the pretense of it. That’s what he wants…’_ She looked up into his gray eyes. They shone with such sincerity and kindness. He hadn’t punished her for running away. Instead, here he was, trying desperately to please her with more gifts; with this sign of commitment. _‘Is this worth it? Should I give up on leaving and accept that this is my fate?’_ she wondered, thinking back to her dark musings alone in the forest. 

Not yet ready to fully accept his proposal, Helen went over to her knitting basket, cut a piece of yarn and threaded it through the ring. She tied the ends securely together, put the loop over her head and tucked the ring on its little cord securely into her bosom. 

…

Nikola felt bright blue eyes watching him as he wove a multicolored striped sash. The stress of not being sure what to do to raise Helen’s opinion of him was causing him to beat the weft a little too firmly with the reed. Hopefully, the only consequence would be the sash turning out unusually strong and stiff. The shuttles flew through the shed like darting birds, the pattern rapidly taking shape under his skillful hands. Despite his efforts to block out his thoughts with the complex work, Nikola couldn’t help ruminating. _‘She accepted the ring. That’s a good sign, but why not put it on yet? And now, all she does is watch me like a hawk. I don’t know what else to do to keep her. Is she testing me? I wish she spoke Serbian and that I could talk to her like a normal human being. Then we could just clear all this up with a simple conversation.’_

The weaver remembered his cousin Pajo back in the village. After Nikola had lost his hearing to a childhood fever, his cousin and him had invented a secret language of hand gestures. They’d played many naughty tricks on people using it, but no one seemed to really mind. The adults had just been glad that he was still able to have friends and act like a normal mischievous boy. Soon thereafter, he’d learned to read lips and was able to understand what people said for the most part, though Pajo was still the easiest because he could supplement what he said with signs. 

Nikola sighed and thought about how he’d tried to get Pajo to stay after they’d built the cabin together so many years ago. His best friend was like a brother to him, as they had been so close in age and lived right next door to each other. Only Pajo was worth the risk of disease in his mind, but his cousin had said it was too lonely for him and that he would want to have a wife with him, so it had come to nothing. _‘I wish I had him now. I bet he could find out what Helen is thinking.’_ he mused as he continued weaving the beautiful sash. 

...

Helen tried to imitate the young man as he wrapped one of the sashes he’d made around his waist. She’d been surprised when he had divided the long strip of colorful fabric into two identical belts, but supposed that wearing matching clothes made him feel closer to her despite the now rather formal distance he’d put between them. The casual ease, the nudity, the caresses and little kisses, all these had ceased in favor of the most respectful behavior she’d ever seen. 

It was actually an extremely uncomfortable situation, as not only did she now feel restrained from touching the deaf man, his politely averted gaze made communication much more difficult. She’d never realized how much they had come to rely on the language of eye contact and touch, whether to get one another’s attention, show feelings, make requests, or whatever. And now, she couldn’t even figure out how to properly get dressed without his strong slender fingers guiding her. Frustrated by her lack of progress, she approached her companion and took his hand in her own, guiding it to the crooked sash around her waist. Nikola looked into her eyes hopefully, then seeing nothing there but the desire for help, efficiently tightened the thick strip of cloth and tucked the end in neatly.

Unable to resist, he took a moment to admire the way the wide belt nipped in her waist, emphasizing her full bosom and hips. All the good food he’d been feeding her had given her a rather voluptuous figure. Shivering with the desire to take her breasts in his hands, he quickly turned away and tried to busy himself with some random task, but was startled when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to find the beautiful blonde looking at him with soulful eyes. She glanced down at the sash around her waist, caressing it with her fingers, then looked back up at him through her lashes. Nikola felt utterly bewitched. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms, to press her sweetly to his chest, to kiss, but he knew she expected better of him, so he merely smiled and nodded, trying to convey acknowledgment of her unspoken gratitude for his gift.

…

Helen was over two weeks late and wondered if Nikola had noticed. Since last week, he had started giving her slightly larger portions than before. _‘He seems to know a lot about a woman’s cycle. He must, given how it looks like he impregnated me with his first try.’_ The Englishwoman mulled over her predicament, feeling frustrated and resentful. _‘Why did I let him do it? Was I really so scared that I froze like a rabbit before a fox? Nikola isn’t a scary man. Why would I react that way at all?’_

She thought back to how John had beaten her, about the one time she’d really fought him and he’d nearly choked her to death. Nikola had never so much as looked at her with anger, much less raised a hand to her. How could him merely touching her cause her to lose all will to resist, just like that? Had she wanted it? Could that be true?

The woman sighed wistfully and curled up on the bed, feeling sad. _‘Would it really be so bad? I used to wish for a man to look at me the way Nikola does. Despite my lack of femininity, I used to dream about a strong and handsome husband, a home, children…John seemed heaven sent, a man that didn’t mind my intelligence, willfulness and opinions. In fact, he claimed to enjoy them. If only I’d realized that he just wanted the challenge of breaking me. By the time I understood that, it was already too late.’_

Helen thought about her previous pregnancy, the way John had lost all sexual interest in her and seemed disgusted and contemptuous of her weakness. He’d beaten her while she was carrying his child, then blamed her when she miscarried. Soon thereafter, he started raping her again, uncaring of her pain. _‘It was demonic, how he enjoyed making me bleed.’_ She shuddered at the memory of the white slash of his sadistic grin.

Unable to take any more, she’d run away to her father who had promptly packed up their house and accepted a teaching position abroad, cognizant that getting a legal divorce would be virtually impossible. Proving cruelty was no hardship, given the bruises all over her body, but infidelity as well? No, it was better just to leave and start over in another country. And now here she was, the captive of another man, but this one...Wasn’t he different? Could it be that maybe all the suffering she’d endured was necessary to bring her to this strange but kind man, the man that she was meant for?

…

That night, Helen lay down facing him and looked at him, really looked. Nikola met her intense gaze placidly, waiting for her to see whatever it was that she was looking for. He hoped that she could see his love for her in his eyes. She reached for the yarn around her neck and pulled out the small iron ring. 

Nikola watched with trepidation as she untied the knot and took the ring in her hand. His heart crumpled as she pressed it into his palm, returning the symbol of his love. But, before he could start crying, she presented him with her hand with a smile.  Overjoyed by her acceptance, he put the ring on her finger and kissed it as he whispered over and over, "Волим те, голубице. Волим те.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ne" is Serbo-Croatian for "no."  
> "зашто?" means "why?"  
> "Волим те, голубице." means "I love you, little dove."


	4. Chapter 4

Nikola winced as he watched his wife throw up again. He knew that the early months of pregnancy could be miserable, but he’d never actually witnessed it first hand. His younger sister had been born so close to himself that he had no memories of his mother going through this sort of ordeal. Uncertain what to do to help, he’d merely taken to feeding his little woman bland semolina porridge and vegetable broth. She was still beautiful though, despite the morning sickness.  
…

Helen placed her hand over the little bump that was growing just below her waist. The nausea of early pregnancy had finally abated and she found herself feeling energetic and restless. She jumped out of bed the moment her companion woke up, unable to sleep. Nikola attempted to discourage her from following him to the pasture, seeming worried that she would over do it and hurt herself, but she was too full of a sort of impatient pressure to give in to his blandishments. She hiked up the hill then trotted after the sheep, filled with joy that she finally felt good again. Nikola laughed softly at her childlike energy, then gestured for her to come sit next to him on the prickly grass. As she nestled against his warm body, he put his arm around her waist, gazed lovingly at her, then kissed her cheek. 

Reversing her usual reaction, Helen turned her face toward his, causing his soft lips to land on her own. The young man gasped and whispered something in his native tongue, the tone of amazement obvious despite her inability to understand the words. She smiled at him, then deliberately brushed her nose against his, thinking that she loved its high bridge. The soft chuckle and kiss she got in return made her smile and wonder if their baby would have his nose. Helen remembered the daughter she’d lost, then pushed the memory aside with the image of a son with black hair, light gray eyes, a slender build with sharp, strong features. He would be wonderful, just like his father. 

The Englishwoman looked into the beautiful eyes looking back at her, then kissed her young man deeply.  
…

Nikola shivered with excitement as his wife slowly disrobed and lay down on their little bed. Her normally bright blue eyes were dark, the pupils so wide that looking into them felt like falling down a well. The curves of her body were beautiful and fertile, like the winding of the river that ran next to their home. He swallowed as he stripped off his clothes, showing his wife his lean body. In response, she licked her lips and beckoned to him as she stared at his arousal, spreading her legs. Whining at the exquisite sight, he quickly climbed on top of her, savoring the moment he pressed his chest against hers. The warmth and softness of her breasts sliding against him as he positioned himself in the cradle of her thighs gave him such a thrill that he was momentarily worried he might ejaculate before even entering her. 

Trying to collect himself, he kissed the beautiful woman, slipping his tongue between her lips to taste her mouth. When she returned his kisses enthusiastically, his heart filled with joy. She finally wanted him back. Descending to her luscious breasts, he gently pressed them together, then licked and sucked the soft nipples. They were already becoming larger and darker in color, ripening like cherries as his child grew within her body. After a few minutes of sucking, a bead of clear liquid welled from one of her nipples. He smiled and swiped up the sweet fluid with his tongue, proud that his wife would no doubt produce abundant milk. Helen’s soft hands caressed his head, then her fingers slid through his hair and tugged gently, evidently tiring of his attentions to her sensitive bosom. Leaving it reluctantly, he hid his face in her shoulder and crooned softly in her ear as he reached down to press himself into her hot center. 

The instant tension in her body made him pause and pick up his head to look at her. She seemed nervous so he tried to soothe her with little pecks on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Looking into her eyes, he tried to ask permission to enter her, and was gratified when she relaxed and gave him a little nod. He pushed steadily into the tight wet passage until he bottomed out with a sigh. As before, she gripped him firmly from tip to base, a perfect fit. 

_‘You were made for me!’_ he thought ecstatically as he withdrew and thrust into her slowly, still worried about hurting her. But soon his concern passed as she caressed him, encouraging him with her eager little hands. He could feel the vibration of her cries as he pressed his face against her throat, the excited rise and fall of her panting beneath him as he wrapped his arms around her back and gripped her shoulders with his hands. The scent of her arousal flooded the air as her body spasmed under his, the wet heat surrounding his hard flesh clenching down almost painfully. Pushed beyond endurance by the intense sensation of her orgasm, Nikola thrust a few more times then flooded her with his seed, lights flashing behind his tightly closed eyelids. 

He lay there limply panting, enjoying the sensation of their sweaty warm skin pressed so intimately together, then carefully pulled out and got off his wife. Helen scooted over on the bed, letting him lie down next to her and embrace her. Getting a little cold, he pulled the covers protectively over them, then kissed her sweetly smiling mouth, closed his eyes and drifted off into a blissful sleep.  
... 

Helen waddled around the cabin, wishing that she had something interesting to do while waiting for Nikola to return from milking. Even a single book would have been better than having nothing to look forward to except endless chores. Apparently, the sheep all had their lambs at once, making winter one of the busiest seasons. Her lover was so busy dealing with them that he was constantly working, assisting the ewes with lambing, milking them, then making butter and cheese. He’d tried to teach her how to churn butter, giving her some cream to work with, but she’d found the work interminably tedious. After feeling a bit worried that he’d be angry at her sloth while he was out working himself to the bone, she’d been relieved when he just raised a teasing brow and quickly chugged the buttermilk she’d managed to separate. Smiling at his indulgent manner, she’d wiped his mouth, dabbing his mustache clean, then kissed him. 

The memory warmed her heart as she paced, wishing that this pregnancy would hurry up and finish already. She hadn’t made it to this awkward clumsy state last time and was constantly wincing at the mysterious pains in her abdomen. Every position seemed unbearable, leaving her with no choice but to pace and suffer. Helen abruptly froze in her steps as pain rippled across her large belly. She’d started having the occasional contraction, but this felt different. A trickle of wetness down her leg alarmed her. It was still too early for her to give birth. She pulled up her skirt and touched the warm fluid only for her hand to come away red.  
…

Nikola broke the thin sheet of ice that had formed on the surface of the bucket of water on the porch, wincing as he ladled some of the frigid water over his work reddened hands then shook them dry. He was glad this hard winter was almost over. Shivering as he entered his home, he hung up his heavy wool cloak next to the door then turned to greet his wife, only to find her lying in bed crying, a red stained cloth held between her legs. _‘Oh no…’_ he thought as he raced to her side and inspected her, much as he would a ewe that was having difficulty lambing. He laid a hand on her forehead and observed her breathing, then feeling no signs of fever, he placed a hand on her stomach and waited patiently for the queer sensation of contractions. Strangely, there were none. 

_‘Well, she’s not having early labor, but she’s obviously having vaginal bleeding and is distressed. I wonder where she’s having pain?’_ Nikola felt frustrated that he couldn’t ask her such a basic question, but put his feelings aside in favor of dealing with the emergency as calmly as possible. He got up and fetched her a pad and gently secured it between her legs, then covered her with the blankets. Worried about her blood loss, he quickly made some tea, lifted her head and gave her some. If nothing else, he could keep her on bed rest and nurse her as he’d done before.  
…

After well over a month of bed rest, Helen was ready to give birth. She’d begun having contractions, but looked frightened and was in obvious pain. After washing his hands with some of the precious tallow soap he normally only used to wash textiles and do laundry, he gently inspected his wife’s still slowly bleeding passage. The first thing he found was familiar, a thick plug of mucus that had passed through the vagina. Cleaning the mess up gently, he tried to get a look at her cervix. There was already more than a finger’s width of dilation, but her waters hadn’t broken yet. Finally, he placed a gentle hand on her stomach and tried to feel the position of the baby inside of her. Something about it seemed wrong. It was still too high. He looked at the basket of blood soaked cloths, then examined her pale face. If he got her to her feet to encourage the baby to settle lower into her hips, it might cause her to bleed out and die, but if he did nothing she would still gradually lose blood in prolonged labor. He pushed his mounting panic aside as he realized the situation was becoming dangerous. 

Then Helen suddenly lifted her head and looked toward the door. Unable to hear what she had, Nikola watched her reaction carefully. She looked frightened and pointed frantically at the door, over and over again, obviously warning him of some sort of intruders. He jumped to his feet and opened the door, then saw to his horror a group of three men approaching. Their hooded cloaks concealed their faces, but he could see that they were armed with long knives hanging from their belts and were carrying lanterns. Frightened by the invaders, he quickly shut the door, crossed the cabin and pulled up one of the ornate rugs. Underneath, set into the hard packed dirt floor, was a long and narrow wooden chest.  
…

Helen hissed in pain as another contraction rippled across her abdomen. Once she opened her eyes, she gaped in disbelief as Nikola approached the bed, an old Napoleonic sabre in his hands. She could see the firm resolve in his eyes as he bent over her and kissed her, then giving her one last long look, exited the cabin. The Englishwoman heard the sound of two strangers’ voices yelling in the unknown Slavic tongue and cringed. Nikola couldn’t hear what they were saying and she couldn’t understand it, so all she could do was hide here in bed while he determined if they were bandits come to rob them or not. She’d never felt more helpless in her life. Even when she’d been John’s punching bag, she’d still felt like she had some modicum of control over him; that if she was just careful enough with her words, he wouldn’t lose his temper with her. But now, Nikola was out there alone, with only that old heirloom in his hands, against multiple men. If they killed him, she knew that she would perish too.

Holding her breath, she listened carefully, then heard the unexpected sound of her husband’s breathy voice, speaking to the strangers. He sounded surprised but at ease. Never having heard him talk for so long, she wondered how he was able to communicate with his countrymen so fluently. They were obviously answering his questions, though she wondered what they had come here for. Perhaps they had brought news from the village? Helen tried not to get too excited by the prospect, but began to feel upset. What if Nikola sent them on their way and she lost her one chance to get news of her father?  
…

Nikola stood on the porch, feeling cold in the still chilly spring weather. He carefully hid the unsheathed sword behind his left leg as he watch the figures approach. Then one of the men threw back the hood of his cloak revealing his face, looked up at him, then back at his companions and yelled something to them. Nikola whispered in recognition, “Pajo, what are you doing here?” then quickly put the blade away, leaning the sword against the cabin wall. Waiting until the men were close enough to see them clearly, he greeted his friend. “Cousin! Tell me what’s going on, but don’t let your companions get too close. You know how I feel about that.” 

The clean shaven young man smiled at him with his familiar crooked teeth, then replied both verbally and with gestures, “We got a visitor at the village, this man, a doctor. He was attacked by bandits and had been healing from his injuries for a while, when there was an outbreak of cholera again.” Nikola grimaced then backed away from his friend a bit, complaining, “If that’s the case, I don’t know why you would bring them here. Whatever this is about, it had better be important.” Then he waved for Pajo to continue. 

His young cousin grinned widely and said with his characteristic enthusiasm, “He’s really a good doctor, found what was causing the outbreak, put a stop to it and everything. It was amazing! Anyway, he’s looking for his daughter who ran off into the woods when they were attacked. She’s almost your height, blonde, blue eyes. I told him that to still be alive after all this time, she would have to be here with you.”

The hermit stood there, feeling utterly shocked by his cousin’s words. After a long moment, he muttered, “Uh, there is a woman here like that, but-” Their conversation was interrupted as the heavily pregnant woman in question opened the door and limped out onto the porch. Her bright blue eyes widened as they saw the stranger Pajo had claimed was a doctor. Her mouthed moved silently, then much to their alarm, she collapsed in a faint.  
…

Nikola paced anxiously as the foreign older man tended to his supposed daughter. “What’s going on?” he asked Pajo, worried that his little wife was dying and that this quack was hastening her death. His cousin asked the third man, Radovan, an orthodox priest-in-training that was apparently his new brother-in-law, to ask the doctor for a prognosis. Nikola couldn’t follow that conversation because it was all taking place in German, a language that he’d never had the opportunity to learn, given his handicap and subsequent lack of any formal education. After a tense exchange, Pajo said simply, “She’s in labor, but the baby is breech. Her father is turning the baby and trying to stop the bleeding.” Nikola whined with fear then finally asked, “Will she live?” Having to wait for the reply was agonizing, and he had to sit down when it finally arrived. “Yes, her father knows what he’d doing.” “Oh, thank God…” he whispered as he put his head in his hands.  
…

Pajo looked down on his crazy cousin and shook his head, then turned to his brother-in-law and said in Serbian, “What the hell do you think is going on here Radovan? Nikola wouldn’t hurt a fly, yet here he is, keeping this young woman as his wife.” The priest-in-training stroked his beard and said softly, “I guess he must have found her in the woods and brought her here. She probably has no idea how to get to town and has been trapped here ever since. Nikola was the son of a priest. He should know better than to take her as his wife without ceremony. It’s adultery without the sacrament.” Pajo scoffed and chuckled, “It’s practically _otmitza,_ what he’s done. Look how pregnant she is! I didn’t think he had it in him.” His brother-in-law tried to keep a straight face, but still being a young man himself, couldn’t hold it and snickered. After a moment he replied indulgently, “It must be from living like a savage all alone out here. Who knows what it’s done to his already scrambled brains.”  
…

Gregory held his daughter’s hand and told her to push, trying to block out the sounds of his primitive guides’ gossip. One of the foreign words rang a bell with him from his reading. _Otmitza_ referred to the ancient custom of bride kidnapping, where a suitor would seize the woman he wanted to marry, then rape her to ruin her prospects for marriage, thereby forcing her family to marry her to himself. Chilled by the notion that his poor girl, already so traumatized by her abusive failed marriage, had so soon been victimized again, the doctor resolved to get her away from this horrible and backward place.  
…

“Nikola, I don’t understand it. If you wanted to marry the girl, why didn’t you just bring her to town? Radovan’s father would have done it for you. And if she didn’t want to marry you, she would have been reunited with her family at least.” Pajo lectured his cousin, aware that he had to make a good impression on his new brother-in-law. Personally, he couldn’t care less if Nikola felt that the only way he could get a wife was through holding her captive. It was probably true that despite his industriousness, no woman in her right mind would want to marry a man that was not only deaf, but also had a mad obsession with avoiding disease through extreme social isolation. The thing he found most surprising about the situation was the fact that his cousin had obviously managed to get over his squeamishness enough to impregnate the woman. But from the glimpse he’d gotten of her face before she’d collapsed, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. The foreign woman was certainly an exceptional beauty. He thought that if he’d been in his cousin’s shoes, he probably would have done the same. 

Nikola’s face turned red as he replied, “You know I’m afraid to go to town after what happened. And...well, I thought…” Pajo raised a brow as his cousin faltered, then encouraged him, “It’s alright cousin. I promise, we won’t laugh. Just tell the truth. Radovan here has to practice hearing confessions anyway.” The young man sighed and shook his head, “It seems crazy now, but...Helen, she does know some kind of magic. She made a compass out of one of my sewing needles. And, well, I thought that she was...That is...Um, I had a dove that disappeared, and then one day Helen showed up on my porch. I could tell she’d broken her arm just where my dove had broken her wing, see, and I guess, I thought she’d used her magic to turn into a human woman.” The long silence after he spoke was finally broken by the priest-in-training. He stroked his beard in order to obscure his mouth with his hand and spoke plainly, “He really is crazy. Well, there’s no help for it. I hope he at least didn’t hurt the girl.” Pajo nodded, then said to his cousin, “It’s alright Nikola. Radovan says that you’re forgiven-”

Nikola interrupted him urgently, “Please, I need you to ask Helen, ask her if she’s happy with me. Tell her I love her and I love our baby. Tell her that I’ll marry her in a church immediately if that’s what she wants. Please cousin, help me. I can’t lose her. She’s everything to me.” Pajo looked over at the laboring woman and sighed. He wondered if despite the doctor’s reassurances, the blonde beauty might end up dying anyway. The baby might die too, leaving his cousin with nothing. It would be an awful repeat of how his whole family had gotten sick and died, leaving the handicapped young man mad and alone. “Alright Nikola. Once the baby is born and she’s able to listen, we’ll try and help you.”  
…

Gregory spoke with the local man who claimed to be a novice priest. Perhaps it was true, as the man was well educated and spoke good German, though he was evidently married. Christianity certainly took strange forms here in the Balkans, but he dismissed his natural xenophobia and tried to focus on the man’s intent. Radovan Stojanovic seemed to think that the young man who’d kidnapped and raped his daughter was sincerely in love with her and was relaying his request for her hand in marriage.

Gregory interjected, “Herr Stojanovic, I really don’t think that my daughter would want to marry this young man, no matter how much he claims to care for her-” The bell-like soprano voice of his daughter rang out in her excellent German, “Nikola wants to marry me?” The meddlesome priest turned to the nursing mother and nodded eagerly, then addressed her politely. “Yes Frau, he would. He desperately wishes to know if you are happy with him and says that he loves you and your child. I think it’s most generous, his offer to marry you and support you and the child-”

Gregory interrupted and spoke to his daughter in English. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to Helen. Just because these people think that shaming a woman into marrying by force is acceptable, doesn’t mean that you have to bow to their expectations. We will leave for Graz and you need never see anyone here ever again.” 

Helen furrowed her brow then looked at the little baby at her breast. Did she imagine it, or did his button nose resemble Nikola’s, just a bit already? She stroked the sweet child’s head, then looked back up at her father. “Nikola has given me his ring and a son. He is my husband already in my heart, but I wouldn’t mind if he wants to formalize it with a ceremony.”

Gregory frowned and said, “My girl, I don’t understand. Do you intend to stay here with this young man? You aren’t suited for a primitive life among peasants. Surely you’ve been going out of your mind with boredom and drudgery?” Helen nodded, “It’s true I’m practically useless on a farm, but can’t we try and convince Nikola to come with us? He’s very intelligent and artistic. I’ve no doubt that he could learn to read and write. He could adapt to life in the city, if you offered to make him literate.”

The old man sighed and considered the prospect of a deaf young Balkan son-in-law. _‘Could I educate him? Louis Braille was able to educate blind students, so why not teach young Nikola to read? If he’s smart enough, I suppose I could use him as a secretary or whatnot.’_

Turning to the bearded priest, Gregory said sternly, “I will allow the marriage if he agrees to come with us to Graz, to learn to read and write in German, and assist me in my work. I have no use for him otherwise.” In her typical willful way, Helen chimed in, adding, “Tell him that I love him, but I am not suited to farm work. Also, tell him that the pregnancy was hard and painful and that I will need my father to care for me when we have more children in the future.” The English doctor and his daughter watched as the message was relayed to the deaf man. Apparently, the news was surprising and disconcerting, as the young man argued with his compatriots for a while, then grew silent and lost in thought.  
... 

“But Pajo, you know I can’t live in the city. I couldn’t even stay in our village I was so scared-” “Nikola, I told you, this man is a doctor who cured us all of cholera! I’m serious, it was so impressive. He talked to everyone, then found the contaminated well and shut it. I also saw him treat himself for his wounds, not to mention, he did just save your wife during a hard birth. Why don’t you believe that he can protect you and her from disease?”

Radovan chimed in, “Besides what Pajo has to say, you do realize that you’ve been living in sin all this time, don’t you? You have to marry this girl, or you’re in defiance of God’s law. What would your father think, Nikola? And how can you leave your son without a father, a bastard without your name?” Nikola tsked as Pajo relayed the finer points of his brother-in-law’s criticism to him and complained, “I wouldn’t do that, you know me! But why can’t she and her father just stay here?” The two men squinted and shook their heads in disgust at his naivete. 

Pajo replied flatly, “Don’t be dumb Nikola. They’re not going to bow to your crazy desires. Look at her father’s clothes. Look at her. Do you think rich people like them would ever be willing to drag themselves through the mud like us, working from dawn to dusk, just to keep food in our bellies? Your Helen is used to fine silk dresses and rides in carriages over paved streets. She probably grew up having servants and those lily white hands of hers have never held anything heavier than a pen. Now look at you, with your homespun clothes and callouses, living every year right on the edge of starvation. Her father is willing to make you literate. Then you can communicate with her and anyone else in the Empire! Right now, without me here, you can hardly even talk to your own people. You’re more of a fool than I thought if you pass this opportunity up.”

Nikola stared at his rough palms, feeling self-conscious for the first time. It was true, he didn’t deserve a woman like Helen. With his deafness, it was debatable whether he deserved to have a wife at all. Yet somehow, the woman he’d thought of and treated for the longest time like she was no more than his beloved pet, she loved him and wanted to marry him. Pajo was right. This offer must be heaven sent. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at his cousin and said, “Alright, I’ll go. Do you want my flocks and land? You’re my closest family, so I’ll give them to you as a gift.” Nikola couldn’t help but smile as his cousin’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Delighted at the unexpected wealth, Pajo exclaimed, “Thank you, Nikola! You’re my truest brother. My wife will be so happy, thank you!”  
...  
…

_Some time later in Graz, Austria..._

Nikola smiled as the two Serbian women asked to try on the shawls he had made. They looked beautiful in the traditional patterns, so he told them so. The middle-aged married women called him a flirt, then paid for their purchases with a smile. Packing up his display, the young father put it all in a small wheeled handcart and pushed it down the various streets, heading home. His father-in-law had told him to come back early today because he’d arranged a visit by hired carriage to a small textile factory. Having only seen diagrams of the mechanized spinning mule and semiautomatic powerloom, Nikola was very excited to see such miracles in action. Despite the lively business he’d developed over the last year, selling his homespun, handwoven sashes, shawls and scarves to other Serbs that had moved to Graz for work, he wanted to make himself more useful and valuable to his new family. After all, Helen would be having another baby soon and he needed to become more financially independent to support her. 

The deaf young man was greeted at the door by the Austrian maid-servant. As usual, she helped Nikola stow his cart in the small carriage house. Far from containing the personal carriage that it was intended for, the small building was mostly full of Gregory’s strange menagerie of fossils, bones, feathers and rather more mysterious things preserved in various glass tanks and bottles. Used to the weirdness by now, the young Serb ignored it and pulled out his conversation book, writing in his elegant script, _“Danke Helga. Ist der Meister zu Hause?”_ The rather sallow-looking blonde nodded and led him to the study. Gregory greeted him, then continued his conversation with his daughter. Nikola felt rather left out, unable to follow a conversation in English through lip-reading, but waited patiently to be included. 

After a while, Helen took pity on him and put their little son on his feet, encouraging him to toddle over to his father. Nikola grinned and crouched down, held his arms out to the growing boy and called to him softly in Serbian. The bright smile he got in return brought him such joy. Soon the toddler was in his arms and he ruffled the already full head of thick black hair, so like his own. Pressing a kiss to a chubby cheek, he lost many minutes gazing in adoration at the little child, until finally his wife took Danny gently away, giving her husband a peck on the lips in compensation, then left for the nursery. Nikola sighed as he watched the pregnant, yet still very elegantly dressed woman leave the room, then was startled when a finger tapped him on the shoulder. Turning to his father-in-law, he pulled out his conversation book and offered it to the older man who quickly wrote, _“I’ve summoned a carriage and we’ll be leaving shortly. Come to the front with me to wait.”_ Nodding obediently, Nikola did as he was told. 

The carriage ride was rather long, but Nikola passed the time looking over the schematics of the powerloom they were to see today, puzzling over the function of the parts that he was unfamiliar with. They certainly weren’t present on his own handloom that he’d brought with him from his cabin in the military frontier. His father-in-law passed the time reading as usual, though the deaf weaver could often feel the older man’s eyes on him, watching him study the diagram with a rather speculative air. Nikola was grateful when they arrived, not enjoying the weight of Gregory’s regard, and walked eagerly onto the factory floor. 

The cavernous room was filled with machinery, the heavy metal-framed looms operating frantically fast with minimal supervision by the women tasked with warping, starting, stopping and resetting the machines when there were errors. Of course to him, the space was placidly quiet, but he could feel the vibration of the infernal racket that the running powerlooms no doubt made, through the bottoms of the soles of his shoes. It felt like he was walking over the skin of a great living beast that did nothing but breathe out smoke and spit out endless yards of cloth. Nikola grinned in excitement as his sharp eyes spotted the mysterious parts from his diagram and his mechanical mind instantly comprehended their purpose. 

That finger tapped him on the shoulder again and he turned to find Gregory introducing him to the owner of this factory, a paunchy balding man with a walrus mustache. Nikola shook the man’s hand then took out his conversation book and quickly sketched a weaving pattern suitable for the eight harness loom that he’d been examining. The mustachioed factory owner looked it over then gave the deaf young man a wide smile, nodding in a rather exaggerated fashion in his enthusiasm for the young weaver’s practically instantaneous comprehension of the machine’s possibilities. Nikola smiled back, then looked over at his father-in-law. The expression of satisfaction and pride on the old man’s face made the young Serb stand up taller and write in his notebook, _“If I am going to design patterns for your company, we should discuss my terms, hours, salary and such.”_ The factory owner glanced at the message, nodded and led the two men to the relative quiet of his office.  
…

The End


End file.
